


a simple equation

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Coming Out, Fluff, Infidelity, M/M, Pride and Prejudice References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis keeps waiting for sparks-- the kind people write songs and sonnets and screenplays about. </p><p>Sometimes things just work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a simple equation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [logogram](https://archiveofourown.org/users/logogram/gifts).



> Hi Sansadie, I hope you like this! I couldn't do a full-blown p&p au, so I stuck with request #1 and wove in some references. 
> 
> Despite the infidelity tag, this is a lighthearted fic. 
> 
> And because of my own procrastination, this isn't fully britpicked. Some edits may be made after reveals.
> 
> Disclaimer: No profit is being made off this work. No offense is meant, and while this does portray real people, I do not claim that these people think or behave in this manner. Title taken from McFly's 'Love is Easy'.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a really fit girlfriend.

Sure, those weren't the words that Jane Austen wrote, but to be honest, those didn't really apply to Louis' life. See, marriage was a bit of a scary topic. While he had thought his stepdad would stick around, more and more fights have been happening lately, making Louis wonder whether love really ever could last a lifetime. 

Louis just barely cracked eighteen, no way was he looking for a wife just yet. Girls around college were fit and all, but it always seemed like something was missing. Louis kept waiting for the day when love would strike him, and he would just be completely infatuated. He hasn't experienced anything like that quite yet.

The lack of emotion, of course, hasn't stopped him from pursuing the birds in his year. Because Jane Austen did have something right, at least. Everyone knows that teenage boys chase after teenage girls. That's the given, the social code.

Louis really doesn't want to read _Pride and Prejudice_. 

For approximately the fifteenth time this year, Louis regrets taking English Literature A Levels. As he stares down at the words, they shift into each other, the black melding into black against the yellowed page. His internal monologue makes it hard to focus, even harder so with Eleanor's floral perfume wafting towards him.

For as much as he has pursued girls in his year, this time, it seems that Eleanor is approaching him. Louis finds that kind of refreshing, to be honest. For all her sweet close-lipped smiles, she also exudes a certain take-no-prisoners attitude. She knows what she wants and goes for it.

Louis wonders what that might be like.

"Mrs. Bennet seems right crazy," Eleanor says as they walk out the classroom.

"I'm not sure what just happened, to be honest," Louis says, adjusting the strap on his rucksack. "Probably just will watch the movie. The one with Keira Knightly and all those sun spots blinding the cameras."

"No," Eleanor says, turning and holding Louis' upper arm. "My mum says that the miniseries one is best. It's got Colin Firth in a wet shirt."

"Isn't he a bit old for you?" Louis asks, feeling the way her fingertips dig into his biceps. It's nice.

"Jealous," she laughs. "But besides, he was younger then."

Louis consciously swallows, and hopes no one else notices. 

"So ignoring our literature course, do you want to come to the shops with me and Deva this afternoon? I know shopping is not your thing, but Deva just started dating this guy in lower sixth, and she's bringing him along. So you wouldn't be tagging along."

Louis blinks, thinking about the implications for Eleanor's invitation. It sounds like a double date. There would be him and Eleanor, and Deva and this guy in lower sixth. He still kind of wants to impress Eleanor, make himself look like a really quality guy, so he nods along and smiles. He suggests they get takeaway or something, too. 

Eleanor beams over at him, squeezing his arm just a little bit. She quickly spins out of his grasp, and before he even realizes it, she swoops in and plants a light and chaste kiss on his lips. He's not prepared at all, his lips are chapped and too dry, but El's minty chapstick lingers.

"Ace," she says, grinning still. "Deva will be thankful, I'm sure. You're the best, Lou."

With that, she prances back down the hallway, leaving Louis blinking up at the florescent lighting of the school building. He likes Eleanor. He definitely wants her to like him. And if he's expected to snag a really fit girl to be his girlfriend, she's obviously the one. He just thought dating would involve more sparks than this.

When he leaves school, he promptly hops into his car and drives home without stopping. When the girls get home, he makes them cheese toasties-- the best that his cooking expertise will allow him-- and he sits them down with their maths work. He sits across the kitchen table from them, and as they spread their textbooks and their notebooks out, he opens _Pride & Prejudice_ and tries to focus again.

He has better luck this time, without the bright lights of the classroom, and the smell of Eleanor a few feet away. 

He kind of gets El's comment about Mrs. Bennett being bonkers, now. He's glad his mum isn't that obsessed with marrying him off. Sure, she loves meeting his girl friends and is always asking about _girlfriends_ , but it's not the same. Mrs. Bennett seems like an old bat, frankly.

Although he's not all that crazy about Elizabeth yet, either.

When his mum finally gets home from work, the girls have finished their schoolwork and are both sprawled out across their sofa. Louis taps his toe impatiently, checking his phone obsessively.

"Alright, love. Thanks for staying," she says to him as she unzips her raincoat. "Where are you so eager to head off to?"

"Eleanor wants to go to the shops," Louis explains.

The twins snicker beside him. He deliberately ignores them.

"Lovely, lovely," his mum says, running a hand through her damp hair. "Stay dry out there."

Louis practically bowls out the door and to his car. His mum always gets cross with him for not wanting to wear a coat or carry an umbrella anywhere. 

He texts El that he's heading over to her place, and runs his windshield wipers as he waits for her response. By the time he reaches the end of his street, she's responded.

He pulls up in front of her house, a free-standing cottage. It's quaint, and while it feels too simple, too plain for Eleanor, he thinks it's quite cute. Much better than his cramped and crumbling row house, at least.

Just as he's about to turn the car off and brave the rain to fetch her, the front door opens, and Eleanor dodges out of it, sprinting toward the car like she'd melt if she got wet. Louis quickly moves to unlock the door, chuckling as Eleanor wrenches it open and dives in, finally letting her arms down from where she had held them up in an effort to shield herself.

"An umbrella would have done," she mutters to herself. She looks at Louis and then at a normal volume adds, "but they're so uncool."

Louis smiles and quirks his head. "Alright?" he asks.

"Alright," she responds. "You?"

"Just swell."

"So Deva lives that way," Eleanor says, her manicured finger pointing in the same direction his car is pointing. 

He continues forward, pulling away from the curb, waiting for further directions. They don't talk much other than Eleanor telling him to turn left, now right, and so on. Louis mostly just listens to the rattle of his engine and the smacking of the rain on the roof of his car.

"Deva's new boyfriend is in lower sixth," Eleanor says as they pull up to the second house. "I'm kind of judging his character right now, so if you could help me with that, that'd be great."

"Perfect," Louis says. "I'm excellent at judging."

Eleanor laughs and reaches over to honk the horn.

The two come wandering out of the house quickly after that, but not before Deva's boyfriend jumps ahead and opens an umbrella.

"Oh, plus one," Eleanor comments.

The boy is already showing Louis up in the manners department. Though Louis doesn't quite get it-- it's just a walk down to the street. It's not several blocks or anything.

The door to the backseat opens, and as the boy closes the umbrella, Deva crawls through, smiling immediately.

"Cheers," she says. The boy joining her finishes closing up the umbrella and hops in as well, shutting the door behind him. He smiles at the two of them up front, and rearranges his hair that's gone wet from the rain. 

"This is Harry," Deva says, making small talk. Louis can hear her talking, but his ability to focus kind of wanes until Deva's voice introducing them all is a small pinprick compared to the loud rush of blood in his head.

Harry, as it turns out, is a boy made out of bedhead. He has a dimple in his cheek and a crooked smile. When he grins at Louis in a greeting, Louis' face falls slightly. Because this boy is not only surpassing him in gentlemanly spirit, but he's clearly far more charming and handsome. Louis doesn't think this evening will go well at all.

"Hi," Louis says shortly, quickly turning back to the steering wheel and out the windshield. 

He drives them all over to the shops that the girls are interested in, sneaking glances at Harry through the rearview mirror. After about the sixth time, Louis looks up to see Harry watching him back. Harry's head tilts sideways, eyebrows furrowed, like he's confused, but not angry.

He jerks and averts his eyes, but Eleanor's voice draws him back into the conversation. "Honestly," she says, twisting her body to face the backseat, "It's a romance. I'm not sure why you're surprised by this."

Deva shakes her head, her dark hair brushing her shoulders, the tips of them still wet.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asks. His voice is dark like coffee, all ground up. 

"We're reading _Pride and Prejudice_ in our literature course. Have you read it?"

Harry shakes his head.

"We're not far," Deva says, "It's just that I'm not finding Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to be the most... compatible."

"So wrong," Eleanor interrupts, bracing her hands on the headrest. Louis spares another glance into the rearview mirror. Harry's angled toward the girls, but his eyes meet Louis' again in the reflection. "Everyone knows that romance is tricky and complicated. It's passion. It's conflict. The course of true love never did run smooth, and all that."

"You read too much," Louis laughs.

Eleanor reaches over, and rightfully so, punches him in the arm.

"You don't read enough. I don't want to carry you through this novel, too."

"I'll have you know I'm off to a good start on my own. But I'm with Deva, here. Seems like if you hate someone right away, it might not be worth it."

When Louis parks the car, Deva and Eleanor set off immediately. Louis watches the back of their heads as they link arms and jet towards the store. The rain's all but tapered off by now, so he locks the door to the car, and he and Harry follow dutifully.

"What other A levels are you taking?" Harry asks, and the closeness of his voice shoots through Louis. 

"Well, Literature obviously. I'm taking a History one, too, and Maths. Just the basics."

"Nice," Harry agrees. Louis' about to ask him in return, when Harry just kind of sighs, exhaling all the breath in his lungs.

"How long have you been dating Eleanor?" Harry asks.

Louis' not sure how to answer that, of course. He guesses he and Eleanor are dating, though it's never been explicitly mentioned. There was that kiss earlier, which seems like a coupley thing to do. For all he's been pursuing her, he's not filled with the type of giddiness that having a girlfriend should bring. Still, he should be pleased that outsiders think Eleanor's his girlfriend. 

"Not sure," he says, hoping that it sounds more nonchalant and cool than idiotic. "We're not... I don't know."

Harry smiles at that, genuine and warm, spreading across his face. He's got a dimple that Louis can't drag his eyes away from.

"I get that. Dating's weird, innit? You've got all these things you're supposed to do, and then what? It falls into place? Or you keep dating someone until it's either time to bail or you get married and have babies. Clearly I never intended on parenthood at seventeen, but still, it feels impossible to get out once you've committed. There's not an easy undo button, like yeah, no sorry, wasn't really interested. Without seeming like an arse, that is."

Louis nods at that. Harry's hit the nail on the head, there. 

They talk.

Louis' a bit of a chatterbox. He's been constantly reminded of this every school year since he's started. ( _He's a bright boy, but focuses too much on the social side of things and has yet to invest in the importance of his own education._ )

But even so, he has a habit of steamrolling conversations. With the way that he and Harry talk, though, it's hard to say who's leading it. They bounce off each other like they've been mates for years. 

Music--

(They debated the merits of indie music, and where the line was between deep and just plain pretentious. They talked about upcoming gigs, and their favorite past gigs that they had seen. When Louis had mentioned The Script, Harry's eyes blew wide, his mouth pouting out, and he leaned forward and grabbed Louis' forearm. Louis' skin seared underneath the sleeve. Of course Harry had been at the same gig.)

Movies--

(Louis' a big proponent of comic book movies. Harry will watch them, but finds the macho characters to be a bit much. Louis rolls his eyes at this, but it's fond. Even after an hour of knowing him, he finds Harry's pet peeves endearing.)

Football--

(They both support Man U. Thank goodness for that. Louis' not sure he could have been friends with Harry otherwise. Louis loves to argue, but he's a sore loser.)

Even when the girls drift further away from them, leave them waiting outside the changing rooms as they model new skirts for each other, Harry and Louis keep gabbering on at each other. It gets a bit intense, even, Louis' focus zeroing in on Harry in a way that Louis' focus never zeroes in. Their voices lower a bit, like they know they're getting too deep and meaningful for an early evening shopping trip.

But the thing is, Louis doesn't have many friends who get his family. Sure, he has friends with divorced parents-- who doesn't these days?-- but most of his friends have their dad in the picture. When Louis mentions that his dad left when he was ten days old and never looked back, Harry pouts and looks surprised, but he doesn't offer condolences. He doesn't offer an over the top reaction to it, either, like some people tend to. Instead, he mentions his own dad, who swanned off and left his mum and his sister when he was a boy. He says he still talks to him about once a year, but he resents the fact that he has to play the dad role for himself. It's all a bit much to confess to someone new, but Louis feels comforted in the fact that someone else feels that way. That someone else has had to grow up too fast, act too mature, too masculine. 

The girls' laughter is light as they emerge from their changing rooms. They don't purchase anything, but Eleanor skips right on over to Louis and presses a kiss on his cheek. Louis hopes he and Harry were talking quiet enough for them not to have heard. Louis doesn't like the idea of people other than the two of them knowing that. Even Eleanor, his maybe-girlfriend.

When they pile back in his tiny car, Louis decides to drop Eleanor off first. It may go against boyfriend-girlfriend etiquette, but they haven't exactly discussed it, and besides, her house is closest. He does walk her up to her door, in a move he hopes looks gentlemanly. He gives her a hug, his arms wrapping around her thin frame, feeling the bones underneath his fingers. 

Deva hops in the passenger seat and directs Louis back to her house, where her and Harry get out of the car. With the closing of the door, Louis is left to suffocating silence, breaking only with the crashing waves of his own mind.

He pulls away quickly, tires almost squealing as he does, ignoring the picture of Harry and Deva standing on the pavement beside him. He does look back, just once, and sees them get smaller in his rear window.

Louis' skin feels alive, shivering and stretching. His stomach swims around inside his body, dodging the intestines. He doesn't think it has anything to do with Eleanor.

\---

He's not sure what to say or do, so he dodges Eleanor after class. He says his mum is expecting him home for dinner, which is pretty much true. She always expects him home unless otherwise noted, so really, there's no lie.

He wants Eleanor to be his girlfriend. He wants others at school to respect him for that. 

But he's not sure he wants _Eleanor_. Not when he's getting flashes of green eyes instead of brown, and wakes up from his dreams with his fingertips still buzzing from imagined coarse hair instead of El's smooth, hairless body.

He knows that he's getting ahead of himself. He can't ignore the script. _...In want of a wife._ He glares at the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in the seat to his left.

As he drives towards home, his thoughts turn like the wheels on his car, and he spots a familiar head tottering down the road. He's alone, but not slumped over, so Louis suspects that he's not in trouble or in pain or anything. Louis should just drive on. He should pretend that he can't tell Harry Styles from behind, and that they have no bearing to each other. They're just two blokes whose kind-of-girlfriends are mates. 

He pulls over anyway.

Rolling down his window a crack, he calls out, "Need a lift?"

Harry looks over, his face opening into a grin when he sees it's Louis. 

Harry shrugs and plays it off. "If you're offering."

"I am," Louis responds, smiling just as much.

It's just a ride down the street. Yet his gut doesn't seem to catch on to that. Inside, he's lurching around like a rollercoaster.

Harry snaps the door shut and the energy in the car is electric, and Louis doesn't know what to do about it. He's not sure what it all means, he just knows that he wants it. He likes the craziness, the unfamiliar, the way he feels on his toes.

Harry shifts in the seat to pull out the worn copy of _Pride & Prejudice_ from under him. He flips through the pages, bending the spine back. "Is it getting better?" he asks, holding up the book.

"It's alright," Louis agrees. "I just think it all seems so complicated. I like that Elizabeth, like, stands up for herself though. That she doesn't want to marry the creepy old dudes."

"Cool," Harry says, placing it down by his feet. 

"Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Sure," Harry says. "I'm that way."

Harry launches into a story about his morning-- about sleeping through the alarm and missing his ride to school. He was late and grumpy, left a book on his desk in his room, problems just adding up from there.

Even though it's the second time they've hung out-- and the first without the protection of the two girls-- the conversation flows so naturally that Louis feels like he's known Harry forever.

And fuck if Louis hates cliches.

He knows about Harry's sister, his mum, and his sort of-stepdad. He doesn't know Harry's favorite colour. He doesn't know if Harry is... well. 

He kind of could picture Harry being into blokes. What that means about Deva, Louis' not sure. But Louis kind of gets that vibe from Harry, and he doesn't know what to do about that. Should he ask? What if Harry says yes? What would that mean?

"Right," Harry cuts in.

Louis swings the car around, leaving Harry giggling and gripping to the side of the car door. 

"Right here," Harry says, quieter. "Do you have somewhere to be? It's actually kind of nice out. Want to kick about?"

Louis smiles and nods, shutting the ignition off. They climb out of the car wordlessly as Harry leads them through the front door. Louis listens to the stillness of the house, takes in the photos and the frames as Harry drops his bag on the sofa.

Louis follows him out the back into the garden area, a tiny patch of grass and a cement wall. 

"Are you good?" Harry asks.

Louis grins, pushing his hair back. He doesn't respond.

"Shit, you so are. Well."

Louis slips off his canvas shoes, standing in just his socks on the grass. Harry does the same before picking up the football and rolling it over to Louis.

That nervous feeling in his stomach hasn't settled the way Louis thought it would. 

In fact, Louis tries to focus, but the back and forth is below his standard with the way Harry pushes his curls back only to have them flop back in his face and eyes. Harry rolls the sleeves of his shirt, leaving his forearms exposed and distracting. The sun, out for once, bounces off of him, and he laughs at himself when his kick bounces off the cement wall, coming straight back and knocking him in the stomach.

They sit criss-cross in the grass after that, the ball between them. Louis' wondering if this is his cue to leave. He's never been good at figuring those out.

"I'm going to ask you a question," Harry announces. 

"Okay," Louis says, but his voice drags out, slow, suspicious that Harry knows Louis' secrets. That Harry can see right through him.

"How much do you like Eleanor?" 

"Why? Is Deva trying to vet me?" Louis picks at the grass.

Harry shakes his head. "No."

"Do you want to date Eleanor?" Louis asks suddenly, eyes shooting up.

Harry's eyes widen in shock, and he quickly moves to shake his head in denial.

"No. No. It just seems like you don't really like her all that much. Like, I haven't heard you mention her or text her or anything. Some of my other mates can't go two minutes without texting their girlfriends."

Louis' eyebrows furrow. The feeling intensifies.

Instead of doing what he should, reassert how into Eleanor he is and how fit he thinks she is and how much sex he wants to have with her, he shoots back.

"I haven't exactly seen you texting Deva, either." Louis crosses his arms like a shield.

Harry looks sort of sad at that.

"Maybe I'm not that into Deva," he says, voice quiet.

"Oh," Louis responds, thoughts leaving his mind. He has no idea what to say. Nothing that matters, at least. Only cliches. "Plenty of other fish in the sea."

Harry looks at him, eyes wide and lashes fluttering, like he's waiting for something else. Like he's waiting for Louis to say something real. 

Louis feels taken down, cut open and internal organs exposed, with Harry holding the scalpel. 

"What's your favourite colour?" Louis asks instead.

Harry sighs, and answers. "Orange."

Louis snorts at that, because Harry's the only person he knows with a favourite colour like that. Orange, honestly.

"Yours?" Harry prompts.

"Red."

Harry nods like that makes sense. Like anything makes sense to Louis right now.

"Sorry. That was weird. I just realized I didn't know that about you. Like I know all this shit about your parents' divorce and how that made you feel, but I didn't know your favourite colour."

Harry smiles. "That's okay. But that stuff's not important. Colours, foods, that's all inconsquential. The important stuff, though, like how much you love your sisters and all that, that's the key. I don't need to know your favourite food to know you."

"Right," Louis says, and he looks back up to meet Harry's eyes. They just kind of look at each other for a moment, daring each other to say the next thing. Louis feels it in his bones. He feels mysteries unraveling, and his dreams sewing themselves together to form something tangible. He feels the emotions that he hears in songs and sees in films.

"You're right. I don't like Eleanor all that much," he says, voice as soft as it's ever been. "I mean, I like her as a person. She's a good friend. But I don't want her as a girlfriend."

The moment it's out of his mouth, he hears the implications. He likes Eleanor, but he's not attracted to her. If he couldn't be attracted to a girl like Eleanor, what was the point? If he didn't feel inside-out in her presence, why force it?

Especially when Harry's stare, like he can read Louis' mind, makes him feel that way. Inside-out. Twisted up and wild in a good way. 

They sit there for another moment in silence, Louis working around things in his mind. Was that way of Harry trying to say something? Did he feel inside-out, too? 

He thinks it means something.

Don't overcomplicate it, he reminds himself. 

Harry's eyes drop down to Louis' mouth, and that's that. Louis' brain short wires because this boy, this boy who he has so much in common with, and breathes easy next to, is looking at his mouth like he wants to kiss him. Louis' never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but the words don't come out.

Harry shakes himself and looks at Louis desperately. He must see the same reflected back.

"Would you tell Deva if I kissed you?"

Louis breathes out through his nose and shakes his head.

"Would you be mad?"

Louis shakes his head again and raises himself on wobbly knees. Leaning over the dirty football, he takes both of Harry's cheeks in his hands and presses their lips together. 

Of course, it's everything Louis had pictured kissing to be like. On the surface, it was just like kissing Eleanor, or Hannah, or the other girls he's snogged. Soft lips, soft sighs, thick tongues and sharp teeth. But it was also entirely different than snogging those girls. He kisses Harry with his whole body, his head bowed down so he's still slightly above him. His ankle jiggles, his stomach does flips, and his head fills with exclamation points, bouncing around like popcorn. 

When he pulls away, Harry laughs and flops back on the grass, throwing his right hand over his eyes. Louis settles back on his heels, watching.

Harry peeks and then smiles again, so they just watch each other for a moment.

"You know, I didn't have to know your favourite colour to know I'd like that."

Louis laughs and looks down at his hands.

"I know. I suppose I just like to complicate things."

"Doesn't have to be complicated."

Louis smiles at that. "I just kissed a philosopher."

Harry giggles behind his hand, his face flushed. "You could keep kissing that philosopher, if you wanted."

Harry reaches out, and without thinking Louis extends his hand too, their fingers grazing and entwining.

Harry's dimple is a deep as ever, but Louis only has a minute to notice before Harry tugs him down and kisses him deeply.

\---

Louis' phone has fused itself to his hand, and without thinking, he checks on it every two minutes, just to be sure Harry hasn't texted him.

He feels the weight of it in his pocket as he carries his sister around on his back, though his brain is preoccupied with Harry. Harry's lips, Harry's torso, the way it quivered when they kissed again and again.

Louis wants to kiss Harry. Again. More. All the time.

They haven't even spent that much time together, but Louis wants to. He wants to spend all of his time with Harry, even if it's not snogging. Even if it's just sitting and talking shite. 

"Lunch?" his mother asks, eyeing him. 

"I'm not hungry," he responds, lowering his sister down to the floor. 

"You haven't been eating as much. You're going to waste away."

She's definitely suspicious. Of course, she probably thinks all of this moony-eyed behavior is because of his budding relationship with Eleanor, but well. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. And he should probably talk to Eleanor at some point. At least explain some of the things that have been rumbling around in his brain.

Of course, this also means talking to Harry first. Because if he can convince Harry that they might have a shot together, or if Harry even feels a percent of what Louis does, then no way can he string Eleanor along. 

He caves and texts Harry first.

Harry's over before Louis even knows it, and their expressions mirror each other. Shy smiles, crinkled up eyes, like the secrets going between them are telepathic.

Louis leads Harry upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind them. He thinks it over a moment, looking between his desk and his door before grabbing the wobbly chair and stuffing it under the door handle.

When he looks back at Harry, who is sitting on his bed, eyebrows raised, it dawns on him what that might suggest.

"Oh. I mean. Sisters. I have a load of them. No boundaries."

Harry smiles and nods, not looking bothered in the least.

"Thanks for texting," Harry said, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

"Of course," Louis responds. He tiptoes over to the bed, sitting down, but avoiding getting too close to Harry. 

"Why are you so far?" Harry asks, laughing. He pats the spot next to him. It does look inviting.

Louis shakes his head and kneels on the bed, crawling closer to where Harry is.

"I don't know. I don't want to freak you out."

Harry laughs and puts his head in his hands for a moment. 

"Can I tell you something?" he says, peeking out from behind his fingers. Louis can still make sense of his smile though, so Louis nods encouragingly. "I couldn't fall asleep the other night. I was just looking at my ceiling and my stomach kept turning over on itself. And before, I always thought that was a bad thing. Like when I got a stomachache I'd whinge incessantly and annoy my sister. But since I've met you, each stomach twist is something else entirely. I think that the whole butterflies thing is well idiotic, but yeah. I don't hate it."

"We barely know each other," Louis says. His mind reels with possibilities. He knows it's true. Not once has he felt the same way about kissing a girl as he did with Harry. He and Hannah had been friends for years before he kissed her. He thought he wanted her to be his girlfriend-- the signs were all there. But with Harry, he realizes, there was something missing in all of that. Because even just sitting near Harry isn't enough. He aches all over, and Harry's right, it's not a bad ache. His fingers itch to run themselves through his messy hair; his skin craves Harry's skin.

"I know enough. I know how I feel when I'm around you, and I know I felt comfortable around you to confess all that personal stuff before. And now. I told you before I didn't have to know everything about you to know that I want to be near you. With you. I think there's a reason people say that they 'want to get to know each other.'" Harry wiggles his eyebrows at the last statement.

Louis laughs and scoots forward, so close that their knees knock against each other, and Harry reaches out to steady Louis. Just the small bit of contact of Harry's hands on his damn elbows are enough to make Louis' stomach do a loop-de-loop. 

"Harry," he says, his voice dipping, going soft around the edges, "I want to get to know you better. You're right though-- I already feel like I've known you for years."

Harry beams, a toothy grin shining at him that Louis can't help but meet. Harry's thumb grazes back and forth across the patch of skin by Louis' elbow, and it becomes hard for Louis to focus. He fancies Harry-- a lot. He's thought he's fancied girls-- he thought he fancied Eleanor. But nothing like that ever took him apart just with a pair of eyes and hands on innocent patches of skin.

In the back of his mind, he's aware that fancying Harry probably makes him gay. Or bisexual. Kissing Harry the other night... It fucked him up a bit. He knows that wanting to kiss another bloke is pretty gay-- even he can't deny that. But as long as Harry keeps touching him with those callused hands and grinning at him with some hidden secrets, Louis _really_ doesn't mind the implications. Besides, this doesn't feel so much like a choice. It feels like Louis' just going along with what fate has planned for him. He wouldn't pull himself away from Harry even if he could.

He pulls Harry in slowly, fingers reaching back behind his neck, playing with a tendril. Harry's breath catches, and as it's nearing his own, Harry's cheesy smile turns into something more serious. Louis presses their lips together, so reminiscent of the other night. Harry's hand drifts down to Louis' hip, tickling him as he moves. Louis' tongue traces letters in Harry's mouth, repeating the alphabet in his mind. He wants to kiss the fuck out of Harry, wants to make him breathless and dizzy just by snogging. He doesn't want Harry to kiss anyone else.

Harry tugs him back, so that they're both lying down on the bed. Scooting back so his hips don't get to close to Harry's, Louis takes the opportunity to run his hands across Harry's chest. It's not like he has a six-pack or anything like that, but it's smooth and flat underneath his t-shirt. Louis likes it. Harry's hands come to rest gripping at his shoulders, and in this moment, Louis would consider tattooing those fingerprints there. Even kissing Harry makes him feel in the moment, protected, like no one else could invade their bubble.

When he pulls away, Louis burns up from the inside out. He's more certain than before that he trusts Harry, that he wants to be with Harry in whatever way that means. There's no doubt in his mind that he's found someone worth it. 

Harry's hair spills around his pillow like a halo, and he looks up at Louis with these big eyes and long, dark lashes. Harry worries his lip like he's not sure what Louis' thinking. 

"I don't know how anyone could be a better kisser than you," Louis says, combing Harry's hair back and staring at the worn wood of his headboard.

\---

Louis wipes his palms on his shorts as he approaches Eleanor's room. Eleanor chats away, leading them down the hallway, unaware that his mind is whirling and tumbling elsewhere. With a kind smile, Eleanor's mum waves at him from the kitchen, and Louis briefly wonders why they think it's okay for a boy to be in their daughter's bedroom. Could they tell? Could they smell it on him-- that he was in no way a danger to stealing their daughter's virtue (although, he suspects that Eleanor is more the aggressor anyway)? 

Eleanor leaves the door open and sits down on her bed, motioning Louis to sit near her. It's oddly reminiscent of Harry from the other day, but in no way does Louis' stomach feel like a bottle of Coke all shaken up.

"So have you started that essay on the book yet?" Eleanor asks, noticing Louis' unusual silence. Eleanor's pristine copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ sits on her bedside table, a bookmark neatly peeking out.

"Not even close," Louis sighs, thinking about the hours spent attached to Harry's mouth instead. Or if they weren't together, thinking about attaching himself to Harry's mouth. "Though you know who I do like? Charlotte."

"Lucas?" Eleanor asks, thinking it over. "I guess. I kind of find her sad. I know Miss keeps going on about land ownership and all, but why marry for something other than love? Especially for money."

Louis trailed a finger around his own ankle, unable to look up as they talked. "I mean, if we're talking about stability or expectations, I see why she would. And to please her family, absolutely."

"I don't think of it like that, though. I mean, sure she liked making her family proud, but really, it was because she didn't think anyone else would want her. That's just wrong. We should always try to please ourselves first, I think. Why deny a part of yourself to please other people?"

Louis looks up, and sees Eleanor over at him with an odd smile.

"It's an alright book," Louis says, to which Eleanor grins and fistpumps. 

"I knew you'd see it."

"There's something else I should tell you," Louis continues, eager to bulldoze the words out before he loses his nerve. "We probably shouldn't be together."

Eleanor blinks.

"Definitely shouldn't. Sorry. I just... well. I think you're really ace, and smart and fit and all of that, it's just..." Louis trails off, the words just on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh," Eleanor says. She scoots away from him a little, flushed and a touch embarrassed. "Is this what I think it is?"

"I don't know," Louis responds, a laugh awkwardly hysterical escaping from his throat. "I just don't think I like girls. At all."

Smiling kindly, Eleanor reaches out and puts a hand on his forearm. "Really?"

Louis nods, struggling to maintain eye contact.

"Am I the first person you've told?"

Hoping it's purposefully vague, Louis shrugs. He doesn't really want to tell Eleanor that he's been snogging Harry, the boy that she wants her best mate to date. He doesn't want her to think he's throwing her over for no good reason, but he doesn't want her to know this has all happened at the same time. Even though they never had a conversation about if they were _together_ , he would rather avoid all that drama.

"Well, I hope this doesn't sound glib, but I'm glad that it's not really about me, you know?" She squeezes his arm for emphasis.

"What the fuck does glib mean?" he laughs, incredulous. 

"Oh don't worry," Eleanor laughs, throwing her copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ at him. "Even if you don't want to date me, I can help you revise."

Louis pulls her in for a tight hug, smelling the freesia in her hair and the softness of her jumper. He's so glad that out of all of this, he's found a friend. And for the first time that he can remember, he doesn't wish anything from her. He doesn't wish she was his girlfriend. He doesn't even wish he was attracted to her. He's happy with the way things are now.

\---

"Hi, hi, hi," Harry chants as he runs up behind Louis in the car park. 

"Hey," Louis says, feigning coolness, which ultimately betrays him. He can't hide his big dumb grin in front of Harry. 

"I've been dying to ask, but I wanted to give you a few days. How'd your chat with Eleanor go?" Harry asks, peering around.

"Fine. Great, even," Louis responds, halting in his steps. He pulls his eyes away from Harry when he sees a movement of brown hair in his peripheral vision.

Eleanor waves at them as she walks to another car with a few friends of hers, one of them being Deva. Eleanor wiggles her eyebrows a little bit, and even though Louis had steered clear of talking about boys-- and talking about Harry-- his big, embarrassing _thing_ for Harry may as well be in blinking neon lights. 

Louis turns back to Harry as if to prove his point. 

"And what about Deva?"

"She's not too thrilled with me, really. She thinks I was using her to get to you. I may have told her that I tried to kiss you. So who knows how that's going to spread."

Louis tilts his head. "Are you worried about that spreading through my year? And yours?"

Harry shrugs, holding his arms out. "No, I'm okay with it. I would rather people just know."

"You're unreal," Louis laughs, reaching out and lacing his fingers through Harry's. Harry blinks and looks down at them, his smile turning shy. 

"Why wait?" Harry asks, swinging their hands slightly.

"Great question," Louis shoots back. 

Harry worries his eyebrow in contemplation. "Eleanor would be mad at you for not telling her."

"She'll get over it," Louis says, waving it off. "I just want to kiss you all the time, including carparks at school."

"What a poet," Harry laughs, before leaning in and sealing just the briefest, slightest kisses against Louis' mouth.

It was nothing special, really. Just a hint of lips, something akin to a hello or goodbye kiss. Dry. But it means something so important to him. With Harry in his space, and knowing Harry wants to be with him, Louis feels invincible, like nothing could harm him. He could go racing down the steepest hill on his skateboard with untied trainers and still walk away unscathed.

Louis' eyes glance over to Deva and Eleanor, who are still getting into their friend's car. Eleanor clearly had just seen the occurance, and for the most part, looks content. She offers them a kind smile and another short wave. Deva's harder to read, but she looks over at Eleanor for guidance.

Harry settles into the passenger seat of Louis' car, swatting the copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ to the floor of the car. Louis still needs to start that essay. He did like the book, though, for the most part, even though Elizabeth and Darcy didn't need to overcomplicate things. He looks back in the rear-view mirror one last time before pulling out of the park, and he catches Deva and Eleanor smiling warmly and shooting glances over to Louis' car. While he feels minorly self-conscious, he also feels like spreading open his wings and taking off. He never wanted to hurt either of them-- besides, they're tough girls, and both Harry and Louis now owe those girls new boyfriends. It was the least they could do-- he was weirdly fond of the two girls who had been the means of uniting him and Harry. 

-fin.


End file.
